


Feels Like Winning

by kiyala



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Himuro has been aged down to a first year too, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are shelves and shelves of books and poetry dedicated to what it feels like, the first time you make eye contact with your soul mate and find them. To Atsushi, it kind of feels like being kicked in the chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like Winning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umaibo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umaibo/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREA ♡

It happens to Atsushi on his third day at Yousen. 

He's in the gymnasium with the rest of the first years who have joined the basketball club. There are a lot, but that's only natural. Yousen is good, and so there are a lot of students drawn to it. The same thing happened at Teiko; people who wanted to ride of the coattails of that success even though they didn't have the talent to make it into the starting line up or even into the second string. Atsushi wonders if this is a common thing, popular teams backed up with countless players who don't have the talent or the sense for the game, whose hard work gets them nowhere, except for into Atsushi's way. 

At the very least, Atsushi is happy to crush them until they realise that they're wasting their time. This game is the perfect opportunity for it, with the first years split up into two teams to play against each other. The coach is watching, along with the second and third years, with an eye out for promising players. Atsushi knows that his position as a starting member on the team is more or less guaranteed and in any other situation, he'd protest having to go through all of this at all. Except Coach Araki gives him the feeling that she would intentionally bench him to make a point, and _that's_ going to feel a little bit too much like losing for his liking.

Which is how he ends up here, standing in front of Himuro Tatsuya, a fellow first year that is also in Atsushi's class. For three days, he's never bothered to make eye contact with Himuro—it's not something Atsushi typically cares about with people who don't matter to him. But that's changed now, and Himuro is introducing himself as the centre of the opposing team. Atsushi looks down at him, meeting his eyes and—

There are shelves and shelves of books and poetry dedicated to what it feels like, the first time you make eye contact with your soul mate and find them. To Atsushi, it kind of feels like being kicked in the chest. 

His first reaction to the feeling is to sigh heavily. This is probably going to require more effort than he's willing to spend. 

There is a lot that is known about soul bonds and even more that isn't known about it. At the very least, it's a given fact that people respond to discovering their soul mates in different ways. Some are secretive about it, preferring to keep the entire matter private. Others are a little more dramatic about it and tend to give themselves away the moment they find their soul mate.

Himuro's eyes go wide and he takes a step backwards. Atsushi sighs internally. He really doesn't need to be dealing with this right now. 

"What's the matter? Don't tell me you're _already_ scared of me," Atsushi says, in an attempt to cover for Himuro's reaction, before anyone else can figure out what's going on. "I know I'm a lot bigger than you, but I won't crush you unless you get in my way." 

Himuro's eyes narrow for a moment and Atsushi can see the confusion in them before he frowns even harder.

"You're not going to crush me," Himuro declares, and Atsushi has heard that before, more times than he can count. He knows that the people who actually believe they can win against him are more likely to let their actions speak for them. Atsushi doesn't mind. He's happy to prove the rest wrong, if it means winning. He's good at that.

He makes his point with a shutout game against the other team of first years that leaves everyone wide-eyed and whispering about how the rumours about the Generation of Miracles were true. Himuro is doubled over himself, panting for breath, sweat streaming down his face. He's the only one that kept trying, even after Atsushi blocked all of his shots, and he hasn't made a single basket. There's cold determination in his eyes and it pisses Atsushi off, makes him want to keep going until Himuro gives up entirely.

Coach Araki stands in front of him, arms folded across her chest. She frowns up at him. "You didn't move from under the net even once."

Atsushi shrugs. "Well, they didn't score, did they?"

He can feel everyone else's eyes on him and he doesn't like the fact that somehow, he notices Himuro's gaze more than the others, caught halfway between terror and wonder. Atsushi is used to the former. The latter makes him feel—odd. That's the word he'll go with, not particularly eager to analyse it further than that. 

Himuro's gaze lingers on him even after the others have looked away. Atsushi doesn't meet his eyes. 

It's odd.

 

* * *

 

When Atsushi finishes showering and changing afterwards, Himuro is waiting for him outside the locker room. He's leaning against the wall, a distant look in his eyes, but immediately tenses when he sees Atsushi. He stands up straight, looking Atsushi in the eye, and clears his throat.

"You felt it, didn't you?"

"Shut up," Atsushi replies, glancing around even though he knows that there's no one else left in the locker room.

"You did," Himuro presses. "I know you did. We're—"

"I don't feel like talking about this," Atsushi interrupts, covering Himuro's mouth with his hand. "And anyway, you're annoying me, so can you leave?"

Himuro pulls Atsushi's hand from his mouth, sputtering. "You know that this bond isn't something you can just run from, don't you? Bonds don't work that way."

"I don't care," Atsushi replies. "Bonds are too much work. I'm not interested. Besides, I don't like being told what to do, by anyone or anything. I don't really care about bonds or anything like that."

"You don't like bonds because you don't like being told what to do?" Himuro asks, laughing bitterly. "What are you, an idiot? Do you also decide not to eat when you're hungry, because you don't like your body telling you that you need food? What's the difference between feeling hunger in your stomach or a bond in your chest?"

Atsushi rolls his eyes. "Those are two completely different things. You actually suffer if you ignore hunger, don't you? If you don't do anything about a bond, nothing happens. They can't be all that important."

"The bond doesn't go away either," Himuro argues, because they've all studied this. "You're still going to feel it—we're both going to feel it every single time we look at each other."

"Then maybe I just won't look at you," Atsushi mutters. "You know that soul bonds don't just automatically make everything good, don't you? Just because two people are soul mates, it doesn't mean that they don't hurt each other. Sometimes, bonds just make things worse."

He thinks about Aomine and Kuroko. They'd never actually mentioned to the others that they were bonded but they never needed to. It was obvious in their interactions, in the way they looked at each other, but even that bond hadn't been enough to stop them from drifting apart once the team began to change, once their games stopped being fun. In the face of that, their bond meant nothing and as far as Atsushi is concerned, that's exactly what any other bond amounts to as well: absolutely nothing.

"I don't know what you've experienced before, to make you believe this," Himuro says slowly, "but hell if I'm going to just let you decide how this is going to end without even trying it. Bonds like this go both ways, so it's not just up to you."

"It's not just up to you either, then," Atsushi counters. "I can't believe how push and annoying you are. Bond or no bond, you're not really my type, so can't you just leave me alone?"

"Not your type?" Himuro laughs as Atsushi pushes past him. "I'm your _soul mate_. You wouldn't be able to find someone more your type if you actually tried."

Atsushi scowls and as much as he wants to leave, he wants to get the last word. He turns on Himuro, drawing himself to his full height. "If there's one thing that I can't stand, it's people who don't accept the facts in front of them and insist that things should be how they think. You saw it in the basketball game today, didn't you? It doesn't matter how hard you try against me, you're not going to get anywhere if I don't let you. You couldn't score a single point against me in the game and you can push yourself as much as you want and say as many pointless things about effort as you like, but that's not going to change anything. Not on the court, and not anywhere else either. How many times do you need to be rejected by your soul mate before you get the point?"

For a moment, Himuro genuinely looks hurt. His brows draw together and Atsushi feels—bad. Not guilty, but genuinely _bad_ , like he's the one who has been hurt. 

It's an inconvenient side effect of the bond, sharing the pain soul mates inflict upon each other. It's theorised to make soul mates more mindful of each other's feelings, to strengthen their bond with empathy. Again, Atsushi finds himself thinking of Aomine and Kuroko, and how miserable they'd looked whenever they were fighting. 

"You're one to talk," Himuro mutters, lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Not seeing what's right in front of you? Please. I'm not the one doing that. You can be as unyielding as you want, I don't care. I'll find my own way to get through to you. Or past you, if we're on the court. If you want to look down on people who actually want to put the effort in, then fine. Do whatever you like. Just don't be surprised when you get taken down."

Atsushi snorts. "That's not going to—"

Himuro turns and leaves, not even waiting around to listen to Atsushi's retort. Atsushi growls under his breath, balling his hands into fists at his sides. It doesn't matter what Himuro says, it doesn't matter what Himuro _thinks_. He can try as hard as he wants. Nothing's going to change. 

 

* * *

 

"Murasakibara." Coach Araki takes him aside during practice the next morning. She has her hands casually resting on her shinai and he hasn't even known her for a week yet, but he knows that's a clear sign that he needs to listen to her without protest. 

"Is this about me staying under the net in yesterday's game?" Atsushi asks.

"It's about Himuro," Araki tells him, her eyes narrowing when Atsushi flinches. "So I was correct, then."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Atsushi mumbles, looking away from her.

"Being soul bonded to a teammate is a powerful thing," Araki tells him, her voice quieter so that she won't be overheard. She glances around them just to be safe, then looks up at Atsushi. "Imagine what that could bring to the game." 

"I don't care," he tells her. "You don't need it anyway. I'll shut out anyone who tries to score. You don't need him, and you don't need a bonded pair."

"I didn't ask you for advice on our team." Araki taps her shinai against the floor. "Himuro is a highly technical player. He'll make a good addition to the team. You _are_ aware that there are four more people on the court other than you. Your defence is good and that is the only reason I'm willing to let you stay behind the three-point line for an entire game, but we're not going to win a game purely from you stopping the opposing team's shots. We need good scorers. Himuro fits that role perfectly. Interesting, don't you think, that your playing styles complement each other perfectly, if you were on the same team."

Atsushi scowls. "It's none of your business. I don't care that you're the coach."

"It _is_ my business if my players are refusing to get along," Araki tells him sharply. "The tension between the two of you is obvious, Murasakibara. You're useful to the team and I'm not going to deny the reputation that your name brings with it, but if you refuse to get along with your teammates, I _will_ bench you. Yousen is strong, even without you. Remember that."

Atsushi's scowl deepens, but he doesn't reply.

"Do you understand?" 

"Yeah, okay," he drawls, falling back into his usual slouch as he returns to the gymnasium. "I understand."

 

* * *

 

It's not like Atsushi can avoid Himuro even if he wants to, whether at practice or in class. With his height, he's always assigned a seat at the back of classroom. In the interest of not being benched as per Araki's threats, Atsushi doesn't protest as Himuro falls into step with him as they walk from the lockers to homeroom after practice. 

"You're always eating, whenever I see you around," Himuro comments, breaking the silence. "Though I guess it makes sense that you need to eat a lot, considering your size, Atsushi."

"Don't call me that," Atsushi mutters.

Himuro blinks up at him. "But it's your name."

"We're not that familiar with each other."

"But Atsushi, we're—"

"I said no," Atsushi interrupts. "Do you have trouble understanding that word?"

"No." Himuro looks away. "Sorry, Murasakibara."

Atsushi shrugs. "Anyway, it's because I like snacks. That's why I'm always eating."

Himuro smiles, and that odd feeling is back in Atsushi's stomach, twisting and making him uncomfortable. He's sure that Himuro notices, but doesn't say anything about it. Atsushi firmly ignores the feeling, refusing to think about it. He's actually grateful when Himuro starts talking again, telling Atsushi about the different kinds of snacks that he could buy when he lived in America—which he apparently did up until middle school. 

It turns out that Himuro sits in front of him in class, and he doesn't really leave Atsushi alone. It's annoying because he's being so determined about it, and then even more annoying because Atsushi finds that he actually _enjoys_ Himuro's company. They talk between classes, they sit together during lunch, and it's frustratingly easy to get along with him. Himuro understands him—Atsushi honestly doesn't think that he's a very difficult person to understand, and doesn't really get why so many people get irritated with him when he's always upfront about how he feels, but Himuro appears to find it more amusing than anything else. 

At that afternoon's practice, Coach Araki splits them into teams again, mixing the second and third years in this time. She puts Atsushi on the same team as Himuro, and she can claim that these team assignments as random as much as she wants, Atsushi knows that she's making a point. 

He lets her make it. He doesn't play any different to normal. The team that they're up against is made up mostly of the regulars from second and third year. Atsushi doesn't let them score, and if he ends up passing the ball to Himuro more often than the other three on their team, that's just because Himuro is best at breaking past whoever's marking him. Their victory is absolute, and Himuro cries out happily at the end buzzer, fists clenched. It's the first time since their argument yesterday that Atsushi has seen him actually express the emotions that run hot through him—Himuro usually looks so calm and collected, but Atsushi is quickly learning that he's anything but. He's just good at hiding it. 

It's another thing that sets them apart. Atsushi doesn't see the point in being so hot-blooded, and the more he thinks about it, the more it irritates him. 

"Good game, Murasakibara," Himuro says, running over to him and patting him on the back. 

"The other side blocked too many of your shots," Atsushi replies, because as much as they've been getting along today, there's a childish part of him that wants to make it clear that this isn't going to change his stance on their bond. "Is that the best you can do?"

"What?" Himuro asks, his voice immediately going low and angry. 

"Murasakibara," Coach Araki interrupts, her shinai raised threateningly.

"Nothing," Atsushi replies, looking away. "Score more points next time."

 

* * *

 

Himuro _does_ score more points in their next match. 

It's a practice match against a neighbouring school, because Coach Araki wants to see how the new starting lineup will work out in an actual game. Atsushi's the tallest by a considerable amount, but Okamura and Liu are still tall enough to tower over the other team. Atsushi's defence is good on its own, but it's even better with the two of them.

Himuro is especially aggressive on the offence. Atsushi will deny it if anyone calls him out on it, but he counts the number of points Himuro scores, out of their total. He's reluctantly impressed when it's about half their total by the end of the first two quarters, then even more impressed when Himuro ups his game in the second half, to the point that he's single-handedly responsible for two thirds of their score. 

"That Number 12 is really good," he hears the other team's point guard muttering to their centre. "And so's that giant Number 9. I can't even tell which one of them is meant to be the ace."

"You hear that, Murasakibara?" Himuro grins at him. "You're going to have to share the title of ace with me now, aren't you?" 

"I don't share," Atsushi mutters. "I'm not sharing anything with you." 

Coach Araki calls a team meeting after the practice match, standing in front of her whiteboard, having drawn diagrams of how their attack patterns can become even more effective. Once she's done, she looks between the team members, a calculating look in her eyes.

"Everybody knows that Murasakibara is from Teiko, from the Generation of Miracles. They'll be looking out for him, and they'll be aware that he's a force to be reckoned with. You all are, in your own rights, but as our opponents learned today, Himuro is also incredibly talented. They'll come at us expecting Murasakibara to be our ace, only to find that we don't just have one. We have two, with Himuro too."

Himuro slants a glance at Atsushi. He's not actually smirking, but Atsushi can see the smugness in the eye that isn't covered by his hair. The most irritating thing, however, is that Araki wasn't even standing anywhere near enough to hear the comment made earlier, so she isn't even doing this to make a point. Himuro has genuinely earned the title of ace alongside him and Atsushi _knows_ it. Doesn't mean that he likes it one single bit.

"You still can't beat me," Atsushi tells him with a frown. "I don't care about being the ace, or the double aces, or anything like that. When it comes down to it, I'll still crush you."

"Murasakibara…" Araki says warningly.

"In fact, I'll prove it to you," Atsushi continues, ignoring their coach. "Play me in a one-on-one. I'll show you what a real ace is like."

"Hey, Murasakibara," Okamura cuts in. "Don't just ignore the coach—"

"Fine," Himuro spits, getting to his feet. "I'll take you on. First to five baskets wins, how about that? Or are you too lazy to actually make a shot yourself?"

"You don't want to underestimate me," Atsushi warns, standing up too, looking down at Himuro. "Let's go." 

"Coach—" Okamura says, turning to her, but she sighs, shaking her head. 

The rest of the team follows them onto the court. Atsushi grabs a basketball on his way, throwing it at Himuro. 

"Here. I'll even let you start." 

Himuro tries.

That's the problem. Himuro tries and tries and _tries_ , even though he doesn't get anywhere. Atsushi blocks the ball before it can make it to the hoop, he knocks it right out of Himuro's hands while dribbling, stopping shot after shot, until Himuro is panting, tired from their earlier match and even more tired from this. 

"Give up," Atsushi tells him. "You're not going to get anywhere."

Himuro laughs, wiping the sweat from his brow. "But I was right, wasn't I? You really are too lazy to score. I might not have made any baskets, but neither have you."

"You're so annoying," Atsushi mutters. "I hate people like you the most, so uselessly passionate even though you don't have any talent to speak of. Hard work isn't going to get you far enough, but you're still so determined to waste your time, and you're wasting my time while you're at it."

It's time to end this. He takes possession of the ball, dunking it into the basket so hard that it trembles. He rounds on Himuro with a scowl. He's tired of playing, he's hungry and he's bored. Maybe it's his fault for challenging Himuro in the first place, but as far as he's concerned it's Himuro's fault for being so damn annoying in the first place. 

He scores the next four baskets in quick succession, playing with such force that Himuro staggers back. 

"Do you see now?" he asks, looking down at Himuro, collapsed on the floor. "You might be good, but you're never going to be good enough." 

Araki's shinai comes down on Atsushi's shoulder with a solid _thwack_ that stings, making him hiss and turn on her. He falters when he sees her stormy expression and her white-knuckled grip on her shinai. 

"Go and change," she tells him, her tone cold. "Wait for me in the faculty office. Go."

He obeys, shoulders slumping and he turns to leave. Okamura is helping Himuro back up to his feet, and Atsushi expects the rest of the team to be frowning at him, the way his teammates at Teiko would when he lost his temper. Instead, they're staring at him like they're scared of him. Like he's a monster. 

He snorts quietly and keeps walking. It doesn't bother him any more than their irritation would.

 

* * *

 

Araki doesn't kick him off the team, even though she clearly wishes that she could afford to. She benches him for the next two practice matches instead, forcing him to sit and watch. 

"Masako-chin," he complains, when she slaps his chips packet out of his hand. "I can't play and I can't even eat, what's the point of me being here?"

"You're here to watch them play," Araki tells him. She's given up on protesting the nickname already, but perhaps she's taken it for the sign of respect that it is. "See how they can win on their own merit, even without you."

"They can't win with zero games, though," Atsushi points out. 

"They don't need to," Araki replies. "The point margin is still incredibly wide, even without you on the court. Do you know which player is to thank for that?"

Atsushi grumbles under his breath. He might know the answer, but he refuses to give it to her.

"You're not playing another match until you can find the answer to that," Araki decides. "Perhaps in the time you spend off the court, Himuro will make more baskets than you've blocked. How does that make you feel?"

Balling his hands into fists, Atsushi doesn't reply to that either. 

Himuro has been ignoring him. It's impossible for them to avoid each other when they always see each other in class and at practice, as Atsushi had discovered for himself, but Himuro doesn't spend more time in Atsushi's presence than he absolutely has to. He doesn't look Atsushi in the eye and never once speaks to him. 

It would be a pleasant break, if not for the unpleasant feeling that twists in Atsushi's stomach. It makes him feel _bad_ and he knows why it is, he knows that it's the bond's fault. He can't ignore that, no matter how hard he tries, and it's annoying. It's constantly at the back of his mind, gnawing away at him and he can't stand it. He isn't going to apologise to Himuro, because he still means everything he said. It doesn't seem to have had any effect though, which is frustrating. HImuro continues to push himself, and it's exhausting just to watch him. 

After a week and a half of not speaking, Himuro approaches Atsushi at the end of practice one day, when most of the others have already left. He holds up a ball, looking Atsushi in the eyes.

"I challenge you to a one-on-one." 

Humming in thought, Atsushi tilts his head to the side. "I don't want to."

Himuro frowns. "Afraid I'll beat you."

"You're going to bore me," Atsushi replies. "I'm going to crush you, just like last time. There's no point. It's a waste of time."

"Fine then," Himuro snaps. "We won't even make it a one-on-one. Give me three shots. If you block all of them, I'll quit the team and give up on basketball." 

That grabs Atsushi's attention, as well as everyone else still in the gymnasium.

"If you want to quit," Atsushi tells him, "you should just do it, instead of making me crush you again."

"I don't want to quit," Himuro tells him, with the same steely determination in his eyes as always. "I'm not going to. You aren't going to block all three of my shots. You'll see." 

Atsushi takes his position in front of the hoop. Himuro bounces the ball, then moves closer, going for his usual kind of shot. It's too easy. Atsushi knocks it away with enough force that it hits the floor and bounces into the wall with a loud thud.

"That's one," he declares, as someone else throws another ball to Himuro. "Two left before you quit basketball. You might as well enjoy them."

"Believe me," Himuro replies. "I will."

He goes to shoot again. His posture is tightly controlled, as it always is. Atsushi has never seen someone adhere to the classic forms of basketball quite as much as Himuro does and in some ways, it makes up for his lack of natural talent. Still, it's not going to be good enough. Atsushi takes a step forward, lifting his hand to block the path of the ball and—

His hand swings at empty space. Behind him, he hears the swish of the net as the ball makes it through. 

Everyone watching gasps in awe. Atsushi can't quite believe it himself—it felt like the ball passed right through his hand, and that just doesn't make sense. This isn't like Kuroko's passing. It's not like Himuro's making the ball invisible, it's as if he's making it entirely incorporeal, like it doesn't matter whether or not it's being blocked. 

It doesn't make sense. "It's a fluke. That's all. Just a fluke. Maybe you won't have to quit basketball after all, but you're not going to succeed a second time." 

Himuro smiles, and does it again. 

The ball bounces onto the floor behind Atsushi while he's still standing there with his hand in the air. Himuro rocks back on his heels, looking satisfied, then turns to leave. 

Atsushi turns to pick the ball up, and calls out, "Muro-chin. Wait."

Himuro freezes in his tracks. He's the only one Atsushi has given a nickname to, except for the coach. Just like Araki, he seems to understand the significance of it too. Atsushi tucks the ball under his arm and walks towards Himuro. He isn't going to apologise; he still doesn't feel like he has anything to apologise _for_. 

"Not bad," he says instead, and it makes Himuro laugh. It doesn't sound bitter, though, it sounds genuinely happy. Atsushi isn't good at compliments. Maybe Himuro's figured that out.

"Thank you. Atsushi." 

Nodding, Atsushi allows the use of his given name. Himuro's smile grows a little wider and they fall in step with each other as they head to the locker room.

 

* * *

 

"Atsushi, have you heard of the Aegis?" Himuro asks, during the half-time break during another practice match.

"Hmm? Aegis?" Atsushi roots through his bag, hoping that maybe there are some snacks he'd forgotten about. "What's that?"

"It's from Greek mythology," Himuro explains. "From the Illiad. It's a legendary shield, used by the gods. One of the possible meanings of the name could be a violent windstorm, which kind of makes me think about your Thor's Hammer. The whole thing made me think of you, actually. You're a powerful shield, not letting anyone past you, but when you go on the offensive, you're like a violent storm. It suits you. I think it suits the team."

"Aegis," Atsushi repeats, humming in thought. "That's pretty clever, Muro-chin. Hey, Masako-chin. Did you hear that? Muro-chin came up with something cool." 

It's clear that the entire team has been listening, from the way they're sitting there and watching. Atsushi feels strangely self-conscious, even though he can't quite figure out why. It's been easier to get along with Himuro lately, but that's because Atsushi isn't quite so annoyed by him any more. 

"The Shield of Aegis," Fukui breaks the silence before it stretches out too long for comfort. "Hey, I like that."

"Me too," Okamura agrees. "Good one, Himuro."

Atsushi nudges Himuro with a quiet hum. Himuro grins, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a packet of chips, which he slips into Atsushi's bag before Araki can notice. 

"For after the game, okay? The coach will hit us both with her shinai if you try to eat it now." 

"Okay," Atsushi agrees. "I'll even share it with you, if you want." 

"You say that now," Himuro laughs softly. "You'll probably try and fight me later. It's fine, but thanks for the offer."

 

* * *

 

"Muro-chin," Atsushi calls, his voice echoing against the tiled walls of the locker room. 

There's nobody else around, already having changed and left. Atsushi is hungry from a long day of playing Interhigh preliminary matches and the meeting once they'd returned to school. He's already planning on going to the convenience store on his way home, but there's something he needs to do first. Preferably here, now that everyone else is gone. 

"Hm?" Himuro is fiddling with the ring on his necklace, pulling it down to sit in place. He's been fiddling with it more and more lately, every time he thinks about playing other schools. "Oh, you said you wanted to go to buy snacks, right? I'll come with you."

"Yes, but before that—" Atsushi swallows hard. "Muro-chin." 

"Yes, Atsushi?" Himuro asks patiently, looking up at him.

As always, Atsushi can feel the bond tugging at his chest when he looks into Himuro's eyes. This time, he goes with it, lets it tug at him, pulling him towards Himuro.

"Atsushi?" Himuro asks, going very still when he's caged against the wall, between Atsushi's arms. 

"It's not that you win, or anything," Atsushi mutters, leaning in. "It's just that maybe it's kind of pointless, ignoring this."

Himuro's eyes widen when he realises what Atsushi is talking about, and then he smiles. "I don't really think that this counts as you losing. I think we both win." 

"Hmm," Atsushi licks his lips, watching as Himuro tracks the motion. "We both win. I guess so."

"We're on the same team," Himuro breathes, looking at Atsushi in a way that makes it clear he's not just talking about basketball. "We have each other. We both win. It makes sense." 

"Yeah." Atsushi closes the distance between them, pressing his lips firmly to Himuro's. He feels Himuro's hands on his shoulders, gripping tightly onto the material of his shirt. Atsushi doesn't really get how kisses work, and he's never done it before, but Himuro seems confident enough. Atsushi takes his lead. 

They pull back now and then, to breathe, to look at each other, and Atsushi can't even explain the smile tugging at his lips, but at least there's a matching one on Himuro's face too. That makes him feel a little better. They don't actually let each other go for a while though and when they do, Atsushi taking a small step backwards, Himuro's lips are wet and swollen. It's a nice look, Atsushi thinks, and wonders how often he can make it happen.

Himuro clears his throat, standing up a little straighter. "So." 

"So?" Atsushi echoes.

"We're acknowledging this, then?" Himuro gestures between them. "The bond. The fact that we're…"

"Soul mates," Atsushi says the words slowly, clearly, for his benefit as much as Himuro's, testing out the way they sound, the way they make him feel. "Yeah. That's what we are, right?"

Closing his eyes, Himuro tips his head back to rest against the wall behind him. "Yeah. That's what we are." 

Atsushi hums, satisfied, picking up his bag and then taking Himuro's hand, pulling him along. "Come on, Muro-chin. Before the snacks sell out." 

Smiling, Himuro slings his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah. Coming, Atsushi."

Himuro doesn't pull his hand out of Atsushi's grip and it's such a small thing to notice. Atsushi doesn't even know why it makes him as happy as it does, but he squeezes gently, then smiles as Himuro squeezes back. Somehow, it feels a lot like winning.


End file.
